Savage Pawn (SEAL Team Blackout), page 1
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Savage Pawn
SEAL Team Blackout
Book 4
Copyright Em Petrova 2022
Ebook Edition
Electronic book publication 2022
Cover Art by Bookin’ It Designs
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SEAL Team Blackout
SHATTERED TIES
RUTHLESS PROTECTION
MERCILESS SURVIVAL
SAVAGE PAWN
REBEL MISSION
She’s smart enough to know better, except when it comes to the SEAL trying to hack her heart.
SEAL Team Blackout Special Operator Drew Gunnison’s motto of duty, honor and integrity fit right in when given missions most special forces fail at. On their latest op to uncover who’s funding the international terrorist, the team’s been after, Gunnison is more than confident that his talent with technology will save the day. He’s prepared for any situation…until he’s partnered with a stunning hacker whose sexy librarian vibes have him even more eager for the long work days ahead.
Kit Wells has been working as a white hat hacker for the government for years. She possesses all the skills necessary to stop this terrorist in his tracks. But working alongside a man whose abilities almost measure up to hers is getting a little distracting. He can’t seem to keep his hands to himself. Or maybe she’s to blame. Either way, the steam in the office is making them both hot and bothered.
Gunnison and Kit might be able to crack the security codes of the people transferring enormous amounts of cryptocurrency and diamonds, but overcoming his need to keep her at arm’s length is harder. Just when she thinks she’s found a way into his heart, a secret is revealed about her true identity that threatens to end their hot, dirty affair…and wreck the mission.
A hot and steamy romantic suspense involving a SEAL and a woman wearing the SEXIEST pair of glasses… If action and adventure and a bodyguard protector who likes to talk dirty to his brainiac lover is your thing, 1-CLICK SAVAGE PAWN and BINGE the entire SEAL TEAM BLACKOUT series!
SAVAGE PAWN
BY
Em Petrova
Table of Contents
ONE
TWO
THREE
FOUR
FIVE
SIX
SEVEN
EIGHT
NINE
TEN
ELEVEN
TWELVE
THIRTEEN
FOURTEEN
FIFTEEN
ONE
“Watching this footage of us returning fire is like watching an old western.” Drew Gunnison froze on an image of their SEAL team under fire.
His teammate Ramsey braced an arm on the desk to peer over his shoulder at the computer screen. “Yemen was no Myrtle Beach for this year’s spring break. Why do you spend your time watching us fight anyway, Gunny? Aren’t the memories enough to haunt you?”
Gunnison jabbed a finger at the closed-circuit footage of the government building they’d raided two days prior. “I like analyzing our tactics. See where we should tighten up.”
Ramsey pushed off the desk. “Speak for yourself. I don’t need tightening up.”
With a stroke of his finger over the mouse, Gunnison moved the footage forward in time, to the point when Ramsey’s gun jammed and he whipped out his sidearm to take down the last enemy standing between them and the political figure they were sent to extract.
Ramsey licked his index finger and drew an imaginary point in the air. “What did I tell ya?”
Gunnison shut off the footage and grabbed his energy drink. “You’re right. We’re Blackout because we don’t make mistakes.”
“Plus it’s Monday and I’m still jet-lagged from that redeye to DC. I’m gonna head to my place. Check on my girl.” Ramsey grinned and then walked out of the spacious office.
Groaning, Gunnison leaned back in his chair and swigged. He should hit his bunk too, catch some shuteye. But after any mission, it seemed to take him several days and a transatlantic flight to fully unwind.
His captain had talked to him about finding more balance. So had a shrink or two. For himself, Gunnison didn’t see what was wrong with thoroughly poring over details. It helped the gears in his mind grind to a halt. Some people sat in a bar with a whiskey in their fists after a long day of work. He read incident reports, and in rare cases when they had it, examined the video footage.
He was tired. But if he stretched out on a bed, he’d only toss and turn until he finally got right back up because his mind refused to shut down. As he sucked down the rest of the drink, he clicked open new screens instead.
Blackout HQ was quiet. The guys had either gone to their private quarters after debriefing or collapsed into bunks here. The only sound in the space was the hum of several computer mainframes and other electronics.
Mondays sucked on a good week when they hadn’t just returned from an op, so he’d enjoy his moment of peace, alone with his computer. He crumpled the can and tossed it at the wastebasket. He sank it from halfway across the room and swiveled back to the keyboard.
It still blew his mind that he got to do this for a living.
Before joining Blackout, he’d only heard rumors about the men who walked like ghosts among the living. An elite team given missions other special forces had little to no chance of success on. When he’d been approached by his team leader, Sparrow, Gunnison had been damn honored.
Then Sparrow told him the conditions of joining them.
Give up everything.
Be issued a death certificate and walk away from all he knew—forever.
Wasn’t too hard, considering he came from nothing. The minute he graduated, he hopped a bus to join the other Navy new recruits in Illinois. He’d never looked back at his dickhead dad or the cruel and bitchy wives he’d paraded through Gunnison’s life without a thought to his happiness.
He’d busted his ass to get through BUD/S training, and reaching his goal of becoming a SEAL was as high as he could hope to go. He was at the top.
Or so he thought.
Blackout…it was a whole other level of duty. One he was proud as hell to be part of. He loved his brothers, the travel, the challenges they faced.
And doing his part to make the world a better place was the olive bobbing in the dirty martini he preferred.
He faced two massive monitors. The one on the left kept tabs on his latest obsession—cryptocurrency. His circumstances made it impossible for him to dabble in the trade; following the trends was the next best thing.
The monitor on his right tracked his other obsession. This one all the higherups in Washington had on their radars too.
Mashala Abubakar and his terrorist cell.
As he shifted his gaze to the right, red warning banners flashed on the screen. Gripping the edge of the desk, he peered closer at the foreign bank accounts belonging to the terrorists.
The numbers jumped from five million to six. He blinked, and the six flipped to a seven.
“Fuuuuck me,” he ground out, shoving to his feet. In two long strides he stepped through the door and into the hallway that ran the length of headquarters. “Sparrow!” he bellowed.
Two members of Blackout popped their heads into the hall. Mustang sent him a dirty look. “Jesus, Gunnison, don’t you ever sleep?”
“Where’s Sparrow? Anyone seen him?”
A rumble came from the far room and the leader charged into the hall in pants that looked to have been just yanked on, the fly still open. “I’m here. What’s happening?”
Gunnison flicked his head for him to follow and hurried back to the desk. When he leaned in and saw those numbers jumping by the second, his chest seized.
Sparrow appeared beside him. “What am I lookin’ at?”
“Abubakar’s accounts. They’re transferring funds at a rapid rate. They’re gearing up for something big. A massive attack.”
Sparrow snatched a phone from his pocket and crushed it to his ear. His stare never left the account balance that had tripled in mere minutes. In as few words as possible, he conveyed the situation to Blackout’s commanding officer, Barrett.
Straightening from his bent position over the desk, Gunnison sliced his fingers through his hair. Fuck, this wasn’t just big. This was huge.
To conduct the 9-11 attack, it had taken about five hundred thousand dollars. This amount of money? It would wipe out every major city on the East Coast.
He paced away and then back to the desk, listening to the monosyllables of Sparrow’s one-sided conversation. When he dropped the phone from his ear, he met Gunnison’s gaze.
“Commander Barrett’s sending some support.”
“Here?”
He nodded, twin lines of concern never fading from between his brows. “We’ve got an advanced computer system, and you’re skilled in running it. But they’re playing dirty, and there’s a hacker already in DC.”
“So how are we getting the guy here?”
Sparrow’s eyes narrowed into a look of total focus. But the twitch at the corner of his mouth indicated something amused him.
“Who said it was a guy? And…I’ll let you know.”
* * * * *
Kit Wells hated skirts. So what had made her reach for the tightest pencil skirt in her closet on the day she had a meeting?
Normally she went for comfort, and dressing like one of the guys in Washington helped many a woman climb the ladder. But for some perverse reason, Kit had wiggled that tight cotton and elastane—what the hell was elastane, anyway?—skirt over her generous hips and decided it was a good idea to prove that women could still look feminine and present their findings to the chief of staff.
Said chief of staff gestured to an open seat at the conference table. “Good afternoon, Ms. Wells.”
She ducked her head in a nod and strode to the table. Well, if striding meant taking tiny baby steps because one’s skirt was restrictive.
She pulled out the chair and settled at the table. She was a few minutes late, as usual, and all eyes were on her. “Uh…good morning, everyone. Sorry, I was a bit detained.” She opened her folder and shifted some papers around.
“Why don’t we give Ms. Wells a minute?” Chief of Staff Kennedy launched into a short speech about the topic of the meeting.
Kit drew the water glass that had already been poured for her closer, blinking several times to eliminate the scratchiness in one eye. It’d been irritating her all day, itching and watering at the corner. She felt like one of those dogs that always had a dripping eye, the ones they put front and center at the pound so they’d get adopted quick when people felt sorry for them.
She rubbed at her eye, then picked up her glass. She took a sip and something slipped into her throat. Small and slightly slimy. Her gag reflex kicked in, and she sputtered.
All eyes landed on her again, and the person sitting beside her reached over to pat her on the back.
Whatever she’d swallowed, she could still feel it adhered to the side of her throat. Quickly, she took another drink and the object slipped down.
What the HELL was that?
She stared at her glass but couldn’t see anything floating in it. Actually, she couldn’t see clearly at all.
Blinking rapidly, she tested her vision. The eye that had been annoying her was fuzzy. Almost like…
Oh my god, my contact is gone.
All at once, she felt the object she’d swallowed, a squishy, round contact lens sitting in her stomach.
I should have gotten laser eye surgery when I had the chance!
Regrets raced through her mind—for the skirt, the contact debacle, for being too nervous about a laser coming close to her eyeball.
All the regrets today.
Annnnd, now I have to read with one lens.
Kennedy had finished his remarks, and everyone turned their attention to her again, waiting for her to present the details she’d uncovered.
After clearing her throat several times, Kit opened her mouth to begin reciting what she’d memorized by heart instead of reading off the sheet she’d prepared. After a few minutes of being in the spotlight, she gained confidence and forgot about how that contact lens would be getting out of her system.
Behind her, the conference room door cracked. Kennedy raised a hand to stop Kit from continuing and looked to whoever was standing there.
“Commander Barrett. What can we do for you?”
“Sorry to interrupt. I need Kit Wells.”
She twisted in her seat so fast she feared her pencil skirt might have ripped. When she half stood out of respect for the person ranked much, much higher than her, Kennedy spoke up.
“She’s free to go. If you don’t mind handing me your file, Kit, I’ll take over for you.”
“Of course.” She pushed the papers across the table to him and hurried to meet the commander at the door, taking mental stock of her skirt. Did she feel a draft from a tear? Or was that only the small slit in the back?
And just why didn’t clothing designers plan for women to walk in these restrictive things?
Commander Barrett led the way down the corridor.
“Sir, if I might ask—”
He cut her off. “No questions.”
She compressed her lips and followed him without a peep through a maze of corridors to a door, which he opened to reveal an elevator.
Not any average elevator. One she’d never seen before and didn’t know existed. If she had to guess, few did.
He entered a key code and the door opened. He gestured her inside, and she stood off to the side, allowing the broad-shouldered military commander some room.
I’m headed down a secret elevator with a man who gives commands to our SEAL teams. What the hell do I have to do with this?
Kit might not know how to keep a contact in her own eye, but she was well aware that something big must be happening if Barrett was calling for her. She’d spent the last five years working as a hacker for the US government—everyone knew of her abilities.
She wasn’t bragging, but she wasn’t called the mistress of the dark web for nothing. She made breaching firewalls look like walking through doors in broad daylight.
She had enough confidence in her abilities to see her through any task handed to her…but when the elevator doors opened on a dimly lit tunnel, her heart gave a little skip.
Holy crap. This must be one of the secret tunnels running under the city, connecting the White House to the Pentagon—and a direct escape route. Why were they taking it?
Commander Barrett stepped out. “Follow me.”
A man sat behind the wheel of a waiting golf cart . He didn’t even look at them as he handed Commander Barrett a soft black object.
“I’m sorry to do this, Wells. But it’s protocol. You can’t see where we’re going.” Barrett approached her with the dark cloth in hand.
Panic set in. She’d seen far too many horror flicks in her lifetime. Midnight stalkers, chainsaw-toting guys wearing face masks. No way was she letting this guy get close to her.
In the faint lights lining the walls of the tunnel, she met Barrett’s stare. He didn’t look like a psychopathic serial killer.
“This is how it has to be done,” he assured her, and lifted the cloth.
He whipped it over her head and bundled her into the back of the golf cart so fast that she didn’t even have time to curse her restrictive skirt.
But she was done staying quiet.
“Where the hell are we going?” Her voice came close to a scream.
“Easy, Wells. I promise it’ll be over soon. Just focus on your breathing and you’ll be out in no time.”
Out where? How long was “no time?”
Her heart throbbed painfully for too many beats to count. Focus on her breathing? It was as erratic as a person marching up the scaffold to the hangman’s noose.
Okay, she really needed to stop watching so much Netflix. It wasn’t helping her panic level.
She concentrated on the whir of tires and the turns the golf cart made through the tunnels. She was trained to hack the most advanced computer systems in the world. Nowhere in the job description did it say she’d be jostled in the back of the cart while shrouded in a blackout hood.
They were trying to disorient her. Joke was on them. She had an older brother who loved to mess with her. This was child’s play.
By the time the cart stopped, her breathing had slowed to a normal rhythm and she was led, still hooded and on foot, through two sets of metal doors.
When Barrett pulled off the hood, she was completely composed. Well, still missing a contact and therefore half blind, but fine nonetheless.
She stared at the office she was suddenly in and damn near gasped at the glorious computer system spread out in front of her. A freaking Da Vinci to a computer nerd like her.
She scanned the high-tech system. “Which desktop is mine?” she asked. Then she threw her shoulders back and moved to the best seat in the place. “Never mind. I like this one.”
TWO
What…the hell…was happening?
